Secret's Price
by Jennifer Campbell
Summary: Tessa’s life is in Doctor Helm’s hands when she develops a mysterious ailment. Characters: Tessa, Helm, Marta, Grisham
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Secret's Price  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Queen of Swords  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer:** Neither the show nor the characters belong to me.  
**Summary:** Tessa's life is in Doctor Helm's hands when she develops a mysterious ailment.  
**Notes:** Thank you to my betas, Woody and Jim. I love getting feedback so please let me know what you think, good or bad.

#

With a shiver, Doctor Robert Helm pulled his coat collar tighter around his neck and breathed into his hands. The air felt good against his chapped skin but still clouded in the night air. What bad luck, he thought, that the weather had taken such a turn. He had come to California in part to escape these winter chills.

An old wound in his thigh protested as he pressed his knees tighter to his horse. Equus obliged by staying the course, crunching along the dirt road toward the Alvarado hacienda without his master's hands on the reins. So Helm took his time rubbing his palms together, trying to regain feeling. Once again, he scolded himself for leaving his gloves at his office. How could he serve any purpose with his fingers half-numb and his nose sniffling and red as a Christmas candy? At least he had remembered his medicine bag.

The first tiny flake drifted down and landed delicately in Equus' mane, and he groaned. Of course this would happen on a night away from the comfort of his home -- the most unlikely weather event possible for the California coast. The second flake fell on his sleeve, and then they began coming down in earnest. Thankfully the hacienda came into view a few moments later, smoke wafting up from the roof. Maybe, Helm thought as he kicked his mount into a gallop, Marta would make him some of her herbal tea. Snow fluttered in a swirl, sticking to his coat and wide-brimmed hat, as he pounded on the door.

Marta answered, relief in her tired eyes. "Doctor, thank you for coming so quickly, and on such a night. Please come in, before you catch a cold."

He nodded toward Equus, tied to a post. "My horse …"

"I'll have the groom take him to the stable." She signaled behind her to a man who went outside to guide the horse away. Marta meanwhile ushered Helm inside and shut out the cold behind him. "You'll have to forgive me if I'm a little distracted. Would you like some tea? I have some brewing in the kitchen."

Helm started to nod, then caught himself. Duty first. "I'd like to see Senorita Alvarado, if you don't mind."

The approval in her eyes was easy to mark. "Come with me, then."

He did his best to ignore the dull throbbing in his thigh as Marta led him through a succession of rooms. He prided himself on limping only little. They hurried down a narrow hallway and through the parlor, furnished for comfort and heavy use, judging by the papers scattered across the desk and a needlepoint frame in the corner. Helm guessed that the senorita tended to the daily upkeep of the family holdings from this  
room.

A fire crackled in an alcove along the back wall of the room, and above it hung a portrait of a heavy-set man with graying hair and a stern look. The late Don Alvarado, no doubt. Helm couldn't keep his eyes from the painting as they passed, and the don seemed to scowl back. Despite himself, Helm gulped hard. _Don't worry, senor_, he assured the hacienda's ghostly guardian. _My intentions here are honorable._

How could it be otherwise, when he had already all but promised his affections to another? Maria Teresa Alvarado was pretty enough -- in some small ways she even reminded him of the Queen with her long dark hair and high cheekbones -- but she lacked the forceful confidence, the steel core of bearing. No, the senorita could never equal the woman to whom he compared all women.

_So you see, Don Alvarado, your daughter's virtue is safe from me, for all that I'll probably spend the night in her bedroom._

They entered another hall and soon came to a closed door, the first he had seen. Marta eased it open, but even so it creaked a little. Sweet smelling herbs, burning near the window, curled up wispy fingers of smoke, and their scent cleared Helm's sinuses better than any medicine. He breathed in deeply for the first time since escaping the storm and made a mental note to ask Marta what she had used.

Upon entering, he took quick scan of the senorita's bedroom, sparingly furnished -- much like his own living quarters. He had expected more extravagance, the lace and flowery things common of a wealthy woman's tastes. Instead, she had chosen simple, solid pieces of Spanish style with few accents, and a plain curtain for the window, now drawn aside to reveal the worsening storm. On the mantle above a small fireplace, in which the flames were dying over blackened logs, there was a single painting of green hills. Perhaps it depicted Spain, Helm thought, but certainly not California. In the desert, one saw so little green.

A serving girl, sitting on the edge of large bed, pressed wet cloths to her mistress' forehead. Tessa herself lay half under her covers, eyes closed and murmuring under her breath. Her skin shown with a light sheen of sweat. Helm recognized a woman deep into a fever.

"She's been like this all day?" he asked, all business as he crossed to her bed. His own aches vanished from mind at the first sight of a patient in need of his expertise. The serving girl busied herself with tending the fire as he took her place.

"Since early morning, before sunrise," Marta said, worried. "I tried the usual remedies, but nothing has brought down her temperature."

He touched the back of his hand to her cheeks, clammy but still hot. "Do you have any idea what brought it on?"

"She was out riding yesterday evening and got caught in the rain. She dried off and seemed fine, but then this morning, when I came to wake her for breakfast …" Marta hovered over them both, doctor and patient. "You can help her?"

He gave her a curious look. "That rainstorm didn't start until well after sunset. What was the senorita doing, riding after dark? It's not safe in these parts."

Marta hesitated, then said, "She's always done that, ever since she was a child. She would sneak out at night and give everyone such a scare."

"So it seems she has done it again." From his bag, Helm pulled out a bottle, which held a small amount of white powder. He handed it to Marta. "Boil a cup's worth of water; dissolve one teaspoon of this in it. I'll also need some fresh cold water and clean cloths."

"Yes, of course."

Marta beckoned to the serving girl and they left Helm alone with the senorita. Tessa's skin burned to the touch; she tossed her head and mumbled in fevered deliriums. Helm caught a few words; most sounded like apologies. He wondered, as he smoothed her covers, whom she was apologizing to, and for what.

Marta returned with the cup a few minutes later. Helm lifted Tessa's head and dribbled some of its contents past her lips, which she swallowed automatically. Even in the midst of sickness, the body still functioned on a basic level. Helm repeated the act until the cup emptied.

"Now we wait," he said, and set the cup aside.

Marta brushed a few strands of damp hair from Tessa's forehead. Helm could see the tenderness in that simple gesture.

"The medicine you gave her," Marta said, "is it what you used to treat those who got sick with the fever last year?"

"Yes, it is," he said, surprised that she recognized it. "How did you know?"

"The smell, mostly. It stinks."

He chuckled. "It is rather pungent. But how would you know that? I don't remember having to administer the medicine to anyone at this hacienda. Am I wrong?"

Her eyes widened, and she suddenly became occupied with adjusting the senorita's covers. She had a guilty look, like a child caught in a lie. Helm wondered whether she had let slip a secret and, if she had, what exactly she was hiding. Was the Alvarado household pilfering medicines from his office?

Whatever he had unearthed, it would wait for later. The more immediate concern -- the senorita's health -- took priority, and he couldn't afford to unnerve Marta with an inquisition. He needed her help, not her denials.

"I must be mistaken," he said, and she relaxed. "Perhaps one of the senorita's workers was sick, and I don't remember. I treated so many people."

"Yes, that must be it," she said, nodding.

#

To be continued ...


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Secret's Price, part 2  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell

#

Hours passed in their bedside vigil. Again, Helm gave the medicine to Tessa, but he saw no improvement in her condition. Her face seemed to have lost its color, worse than when he had arrived. The salicylic acid had never before taken this long to show some signs of working, and Helm began to wonder whether the sickness originated with a virus at all. Yet all he could do was treat the symptoms. He knew no other way to heal.

A servant knocked, then entered with another pot of steaming tea. Helm thanked her and poured himself a cup.

He glanced at Marta, who was pacing by the door. "Tea?"

"What?" she said, looking confused as she was pulled from her thoughts. "Oh. No, thank you."

She started pacing again, crossing the bedroom in a few long strides. Occasionally she peered out at the snowfall, even as frost encroached on the window glass and made any clear view impossible. Then she spun around and resumed her march.

"It's getting worse again," she said.

"What, the weather?"

She gave him an annoyed look, as if to say of course she was talking about the weather. Helm couldn't help but notice the dark circles under her eyes.

"You should get some sleep," he said in his most authoritative tone. "You'll be no good to her later if you're dead on your feet. I'll stay awake. We can watch her in shifts."

"I wouldn't be able to sleep. What I need is something to do."

"I'm sorry but there's nothing …"

"More cloths, perhaps," she muttered. "Or blankets? Do you think she has enough?"

"Marta, we've done all we can. The hard work is up to the senorita now."

Then, all unexpectedly, Marta fell before him onto her knees. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Please, Doctor Helm. If I don't do something, I'll go crazy with waiting."

He could only stare, surprised into silence. He had grown accustomed to the desperation of worried family members who hovered over their loved one in the hope that that alone would cure the illness. They got in the way, broke Helm's concentration. He tolerated them, barely, because he often had little choice in the matter.

Marta wasn't one of them, prone to losing her composure. Yet here she was at his feet, begging him to rescue her from helplessness. He wanted to oblige, but he couldn't think of a single task that hadn't already been performed several times over. Then his eyes strayed to the floor, to the empty bottle beside his bag.

"We could use more medicine, but it's at my office. It's a long ride to town, in the middle of the night. Plus, it's snowing."

"Yes, of course. I'll be back soon." She snatched the bottle and rushed toward the door.

"Marta!"

She stopped, looked back at him.

"Do you really want to do this?"

"I have to. I can't stand doing nothing."

He nodded. "All right then. But promise me you'll take a couple of rancheros with you, and dress warmly. We can't have you getting sick, as well."

"I promise."

And she was gone.

#

Marta knew her way to town, and speed was essential. To wake rancheros, wait for them to dress, harness and saddle horses … it would take too long. She did, however, dress more warmly before going to the stable and saddling up. She also grabbed her gloves and a hat. It wouldn't do to ignore all of Doctor Helm's suggestions. After all, she owed him something, after the lies she had told. No, not lies exactly, she told herself. Nothing she had said was untrue, but a lie of omission was hardly any better.

If Tessa didn't improve soon, though, she would have to tell Helm the whole truth and deal with the consequences later.

For a while, she followed the road easily, even though it lay under a sheet of snow. Ride left of that outcropping there, right around the dead tree over there. A full moon sometimes broke through the clouds and reflected off the snow, creating an eerie, bluish glow, much brighter than normal for the wee hours. Even so, the hacienda quickly vanished behind her, and the few flakes still falling blurred visibility. She prayed that she would stay the course. To lose her way on such a night might be her death, or at the very least cause a disastrous delay in getting more medicine to Doctor Helm.

Soon, the trip began to pall, and she grew careless. Had she missed a landmark? That bush didn't look quite right. Then again, perhaps the snow was playing tricks. _Nothing_ looked right in this alien landscape, rocky outcroppings and plants suffocating under such a thick blanket. Drifts created hills where none existed before. Had she mistaken one of those rises for a specific boulder, or maybe for a ditch that wasn't really there?

She turned her mount full circle in an attempt to regain her bearings, to find something, anything, familiar. All that greeted her was mile upon mile of white, the sound of hooves crunching in snow and her own heavy breathing.

"Calm down," she told herself, and rubbed her hands together. "You know this valley. You've ridden across it a hundred times. Just calm down and think."

But rational thought proved difficult when one was cold and alone and lost.

"Hello?!" she yelled, as loud as she could. "Can anyone hear me? Hello?!"

_Great, Marta. Yell and scream like a child. There's probably no one within miles to hear you._

She circled around again for another scan of the area.

There! That tall rock that thrust up like a pillar from the snow. How had she missed it before? The children called it Diablo, for on its jagged surface they imagined the image of an evil, grinning face. Sons and daughters of dons snuck out here on summer nights to climb to its apex. Conquer Diablo, the evil one. Yes, she _knew_ that rock. How strange that it should be a devil to guide her way.

Still, the landmark was a good mile off the road, and far from town. She could attempt to retrace her tracks, but if the falling snow had already erased them, what then?

From far off, through the silence, she heard a muffled rhythmic thumping, like the beating of a drum. Her heart started to pound harder, and blood rushed in her ears. What could that be? A wild animal? One of Montoya's soldiers? She had probably attracted it with her foolish yelling. She rode around behind Diablo and waited, as the thumping grew louder.

A few seconds later, the silhouette of a rider appeared in the gloom. Marta strained to get a better look but couldn't tell who it was, friend or foe. The rider reined in on the other side of the rock, circled his horse, and called out, "Come out. I know you're there, I can see the tracks."

At the sound of the voice, Marta tensed. She recognized it and felt bile rise in her throat. Normally, she would remain in hiding, or maybe stick him with a knife, but tonight, she didn't have the luxury of indulging her whims.

"Capitan Grisham?" she called out as she rode around the rock. "What are you doing here?"

He saw her and looked perplexed. "What am _I_ doing out here? What about you? You're Senorita Alvarado's servant, right? Don't you think it's a little strange that I find you riding around on a night like this?"

She smiled wryly. "Which question do you want me to answer first?"

"Never mind," he said, brushing snow from his shoulders. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm trying to get to Doctor Helm's office. My mistress is sick, and the doctor sent me to get more medicine."

"Senorita Alvarado's sick, huh? So what'd she come down with?"

_You of all people should know that_, Marta thought bitterly. She tried to keep the anger out of her voice and said, "She has a fever, and I fear she might not live until morning. I must get to Doctor Helm's office quickly."

"You're a long way off the road. If you'd kept heading west, you would have ended up at the Martinez ranch." He pulled his horse around. "Come on, then. I'll guide you to town."

As much as it galled her to accept the offer, she had no choice. She gave her horse a light kick to get him moving. When she reached Grisham's side, they rode out.

"Now what are you doing out here?" she asked.

He shrugged. "The colonel is having some cattle-thieving farmer hanged in a couple of days. The Queen tried to rescue him last night, but I stopped her." He puffed out his chest at that, and Marta gritted her teeth. "The colonel thought she'd be back tonight, so I've had the men out on patrol. You're damn lucky I was nearby and heard you yelling."

"And you care whether I live? Or whether Senorita Alvarado lives?" The words rushed out before she could stop them and she bit her lip. That was a stupid, careless accusation. She pretended to the world to be only a simple servant, but saying such things would give away her ruse faster than anything else.

"I'm hurt that you even ask that. I really am." He pouted a little. "I'm not such a bad guy, you know."

"Of course you're not."

He leered. "Besides, I was hoping eventually, the senorita and me would … you know. Can't do that if she's dead, right?"

This time, she managed to hold back an acidic response, but only barely. "Of course, Capitan."

"And if any of this gets back to Senorita Alvarado, or anyone else, I'll know who said it and I'll slit your throat. Got it? I've got a reputation to maintain."

She did her best to look alarmed, knowing that such a threat would scare almost any of the lower-born residents of Santa Helena. "I won't tell a soul."

"Good. Now let's pick up the pace a bit, unless you're worried about falling out of your saddle at a gallop."

For an answer, she kicked her heels and rode ahead of Grisham, but he quickly caught up. Even the icy wind slapping against her face was welcome, if it meant she didn't have to talk to him anymore. The man embodied everything she hated about humanity. On the long ride to town, she imagined all the things she wanted to say to his face but probably never would.

#

To be continued ...


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Secret's Price, part 3  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell

#

A clock in the parlor chimed midnight, its unhurried gong echoing back to Tessa's bedroom. It had been one hour since Marta had left, give or take. She should be returning soon with more medicine, or at least Helm hoped so.

Tessa had quieted in the past few minutes -- the mumbling and tossing about had given way to an uneasy sleep -- yet Helm still worried. The calm could either signal her recovery or her impending death. The art of healing was an uncertain one, and no more so than now.

He soaked a cloth in a bowl of cold water and dabbed it at her forehead. She moaned, then opened her eyes, slowly, as though the act cost her great effort. After a moment of staring dazed at the ceiling, she focused on his face.

He smiled in relief. "Welcome back."

"Back where? Was I gone?" Her voice was weak, barely a whisper.

"You've been sick, Senorita. You should know better than to ride in the rain. Perhaps from now on, you'll show better sense."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just don't do it again." He lifted a cup of water to her lips. "Drink this. You're probably dehydrated."

She obeyed. "I'm glad you're here. I missed you so much."

He gave her an odd look. "I'm right here."

"I've tried to do what you told me to, but it's so hard. I help people, but I still haven't helped you. I'm sorry. I'll try harder, I promise."

"What? Senorita, I've never told you to do anything. As for helping me, well, you've been a great help on several occasions."

"But I'm not what you wanted. I'm not your avenging angel! I haven't avenged anything!"

She tried to sit up, but Helm eased her back to her pillows. He realized, disappointed, that she wasn't coming out of her sickness at all and she wasn't even talking to him. The fever was giving her hallucinations.

"Calm down. It's all right."

A tear ran down her cheek. "I feel hot. Am I going to die?"

"I'm doing my best to prevent that. And you need to rest."

She made one more attempt to sit up but was too weak to resist Helm's firm hand on her shoulder. He wondered, as she gazed up at him with teary eyes, whom she was seeing in her fantasy. It was someone dear to her, obviously -- perhaps Marta, or a friend or relative she had left behind in Spain. Anyone he guessed at, though, would be no more than that: a guess. Unlike some ladies of the pueblo, Tessa wasn't one to speak much about her past.

"Captain Grisham …" Her voice trailed off.

Now what did that Neanderthal have to do with anything? Surely she didn't think she was talking to him. Perhaps more harshly than he intended, Helm said, "I'm not Grisham."

"No, he -- I think he hit me as I was riding away. He shot me, and I'm going to die without finding who killed you. I'm so sorry, Papa. I've failed you."

"No one has shot you, Senorita," he answered absently.

So she was seeing her father, he thought, remembering the portrait of the stern man in the parlor. Of course, that made perfect sense. It was quite normal for a sick patient to turn to a parent, someone whom they trusted and loved above all others. It was certainly better than Grisham.

Still, the hallucinations were worse than he had thought, if she was imagining getting shot. But what if it weren't her imagination. Helm paused in his work as he considered the wild idea. On the off chance that it was true, it would explain why his medicines had failed to bring down her temperature. An infected gunshot wound could result in the kind of symptoms he was seeing here.

He shook himself of the notion. That was an insane idea, that someone would shoot Senorita Alvarado. She was one of the most respected landholders in the region and, as far as he knew, she had no enemies. Besides, he would have seen the wound. Unless …

Grisham did specialize in shooting people in the back.

"Papa? Papa, where did you go? Come back." She looked wide-eyed about the room, her eyes sliding over Helm as though she could no longer see him. "Don't leave me again!"

"We're going to sit you up for a moment," he said, then slid one arm behind her shoulder blades and lifted her, slowly, so slowly. She passed out. Helm struggled to adjust her just right, so he could lift her shirt and get a good view of her back. What he saw there made him swear like the soldier he used to be. A blood-soaked bandage was patched over a small area just below her shoulder. Neat work. It was probably Marta's doing.

That meant Tessa had spoken the truth. Grisham, or someone, had attacked her. But why? Riding after dark was dangerous, and she might have been mistaken for someone else. But Senorita Alvarado was smart enough to announce herself instead of risk getting shot in the back. And even a man as unprincipled as the captain wouldn't shoot at a woman -- unless, of course, she were the Queen of Swords.

The Queen. Could it be? No, she couldn't possibly be.

But it would explain the nighttime ride, and Marta recognizing the smell of his medicine. He remembered the Queen's words on the day she had helped him recover the stolen medicine, as they stood outside the cave in which she had just locked Grisham. _For a friend_, she had said, and poured a pinch of the white powder into her glove.

The pieces suddenly clicked into place, and Helm dropped Tessa in shock. She fell like dead weight into the bed, her hair spilling in a tangled mess. He unthinkingly ran his hands through the dark mass -- a gesture of familiarity not at all appropriate between doctor and patient. But that hair, thick and wild, it captivated him. Of course it was hers. How could he have missed it before? He cursed himself for being such a blind fool.

He lifted her again, leaned her over and peeled the bandage from her back. The wound was puckered and swollen, and ugly red lines snaked out from its center. The infection looked quite advanced. This required different treatment, and the preparation of new medicines in the kitchen.

He wished Marta would return, for he now needed her help -- and he also planned on scolding her severely. He understood her hesitation to reveal the truth, but she had risked her mistress' life by hiding the wound from him. And just because he had found the source of the problem didn't mean Tessa would live. It might already be too late to save her.

Helm forced that thought far from his mind. She would _not_ die. He wouldn't let her. He patted the bandage back into place, eased Tessa down and yelled for the serving girl he knew was waiting just outside the door. "Stay with the senorita. Come get me immediately if there's any change," he told her. "I'll be in the kitchen."

With his medicine bag in hand, he raced from the room.

#

In her dreams, Tessa relived the moment again and again in perfect clarity, the moment when Grisham caught her in the jail while she fumbled with the lock on Pedro's cell. Pedro yelled and ducked as Grisham fired a shot, and it ricocheted off a bar by Tessa's ear, leaving a chalk-white mark on the black metal. The guard's keys slipped from her hands and clattered onto the floor. Her time was up. Grisham was cocking his gun back for another shot, and this time, she knew he would not miss.

She dove for the floor and rolled into his feet, throwing him off balance. His shot penetrated the ceiling as he fell backward, landing with an oomph as the air was forced from his lungs. Still, he was readying for another shot. Tessa scrambled to her feet, hurdled the prostrate captain and darted for the exit. Pedro would have to wait.

Outside the jail, the clouds ripped open and started to pour buckets. Tessa was soaked almost immediately. She jumped into the saddle of her horse -- slipped a little on its wetness before settling in -- and kicked hard at his flanks. The horse responded with the ease of their long partnership and pressed into a gallop. With expert handling, Tessa guided him through the muddy town square. A few curious faces peered down at her from windows.

Behind her, she could hear Grisham yelling for the guard, raising the alarm that the Queen of Swords was here. She felt like laughing aloud, spurred on by the thrill of her close escape and the adrenaline rushing through her veins. She had slipped through their fingers again. Tomorrow she would return, and this time take Pedro with her. The poor farmer didn't deserve the gallows. He was no cattle thief.

She heard shots fired in quick succession, like logs popping in the fireplace. They all missed, of course. Montoya's guard couldn't hit a standing target only a few paces away, let alone a black rider on a rainy night. She slowed a little to hazard a look back, to gloat a bit at her enemies before galloping away. Through the storm, she caught a glimpse of Grisham, illuminated against the jail door, as he raised his gun. She wheeled around, heard the shot.

Fire stabbed at her back like a hot brand, and she keeled over, almost falling from the saddle. She knew that feeling, had experienced it before. This time, Grisham hadn't missed.

In her dream, she felt herself falling, awash, drowning in a lake of fiery pain. She opened her eyes. Then a face appeared, and not the one she expected. No, it wasn't Grisham, leering over her in victory. This face evoked feelings of comfort, love and understanding. Her father. She tried to plead with him, to tell him she was sorry for failing to avenge his death. Then he was gone, and the blackness encroached, and the dream began again.

#

To be continued ...


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Secret's Price, part 4  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell

#

Marta kept her kitchen clean and orderly, if a little cluttered. Round loaves of bread, bottles of spices and jars of various foods crowded the shelves, but Helm was able to quickly find her rather extensive stash of medicines. He took what he needed, lined it up on a table along with his own supplies, and began to work.

As he measured and mixed, his thoughts strayed elsewhere, to the young lady in the back bedroom with a bullet wound in her back. And to her closest companion, who had lied to protect a secret. Why on God's green earth had she done that? Marta should have known that of all the people of Santa Helena, he alone could be trusted with the knowledge of Tessa's other life.

He paused to marvel at that. The Queen. Maria Teresa Alvarado was the Queen of Swords.

The Queen was tough, clever and outspoken, while Tessa was a typical Spanish lady. How could they be the same person? How could the spoiled daughter of a don be the same woman he had so quickly and helplessly fallen for? Helm couldn't quite wrap his mind around it, despite the fact he had seen the proof.

He struggled with the concept, and was busy boiling water and burning his fingers on a kettle, when the back door opened, bringing in gusts of cold air that made Helm shiver. Marta walked in, bits of snow dusting her clothes and hair, and her nose and cheeks were red. She set a small bottle of white powder on the table between them and pulled off her gloves. She had left the door open.

"How is my mistress?" she asked anxiously.

"Not well, thanks to you," Helm said, his words clipped and angry, and Marta drew back a step. "You should know better than most that to treat a sickness, the doctor must have all the information --"

"And what information is that, Doctor?"

The male voice drifted through the door, and Grisham waltzed in like an emperor into his palace. He pulled off his hat and dusted the snow that coated it onto the kitchen floor, then stamped his boots loudly to clean them off as well. The little display of making himself at home wasn't lost on Helm. Grisham smirked.

Helm gritted his teeth and glared at Marta, who shrugged helplessly. Why had she brought _him_ here, and why now? The very man who was responsible for Tessa's wound was walking around her kitchen like he owned the place. Even worse, Helm now couldn't speak freely about what truly ailed Tessa, not in front of the captain.

Grisham, oblivious to the silent exchange, sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. "What are you cooking in here? It smells terrible."

"If you must know," Helm snapped, "it is medicine for a very sick patient, one who does not need a house full of visitors."

Grisham smiled and bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, an attitude of gloating about him. "You're trying to get rid of me. But you should be thanking me."

"Thanking you?" Helm said, incredulous. "What for?"

"Capitan Grisham guided me to town and back here again," Marta hurriedly said, before either man could spout another tactless remark. "I got lost in the snow. If not for him, I might still be out there."

"I told you to take rancheros with you," Helm said, then waved his hands in exasperation. "Never mind. Captain Grisham, thank you for guiding Marta back safely. You may now leave, as we have things perfectly under control here."

"Oh, no, no, no," Grisham said, shaking his finger. "I'm not leaving until I see Senorita Alvarado. She's one of the primary landholders in these parts, and her health is of great concern to the colonel and myself."

"I'll bet." Helm stepped forward, stopped only inches from Grisham, and stared him down. The kettle, hanging over the fire, started to whistle, but no one moved. "Would you start plotting how to steal her land before or after her grave was dug?"

"Be careful what you say, Doctor," Grisham warned, his voice deadly soft. His hand moved to his holster. "Hers might not be the only funeral."

"Enough!" Marta barked, and threw her arms between the two men to push them apart. "I will not have you arguing like hot-headed fools in this house, and especially not when my mistress is sick."

She was right, Helm knew. As much as he itched to connect his fist with that arrogant face, he had more important things to tend to. He backed off, with a looked that said _This isn't over_, and went to fetch his screaming kettle from the fire. He poured a liberal amount of steaming water into a bowl and busied himself with measuring out and adding medicines to the mix.

Meanwhile, Marta took three cups off a shelf and filled them with the remaining hot water from the kettle. "I believe Capitan Grisham has earned a look in at my mistress," she said as she poured. "But first, some tea is in order. To warm us after the ride."

"I could use something to drink," Grisham muttered. "But don't you have anything stronger than tea? Whiskey does a fine job of warming the insides."

"No whiskey. Just tea," Marta answered patiently as she labored over the cups. Helm saw, out the corner of his eye, that Marta was sprinkling something extra into one of the cups. She winked at him when she noticed his scrutiny.

Grisham sat heavily on a stool and threw up his arms. "Fine, I'll drink the tea. But when it's done, I get to see the senorita, right?"

"Of course."

"Then give it here."

Marta smiled sweetly and handed him the treated cup. He gulped it down without taking a breath and wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve.

"Right then. Done. Let's go."

"Patience, Capitan," Marta said, handed a cup to Helm and started sipping slowly from her own. "It would be impolite to barge in on my mistress without the doctor present, don't you think? And he is still preparing his medicines."

"Fine," Grisham grumbled, and pointed a finger at Helm. "Make it quick. I don't have all night."

Helm took his cue from Marta and slowed his work, just a little. Tessa couldn't afford a major delay. He found he didn't have to stall for long, as Grisham's chin soon dipped to his chest and he started snoring. Only when he began sliding off his stool did Helm rush over, catching him before he could crash to the floor and wake up.

"What did you give him?" Helm asked as he eased Grisham to the floor.

"Just something to keep him out of the way until morning."

"He won't hear us?"

"It would be easier to wake the dead."

"Good. Then I can continue what I was saying before our interruption." He returned to mixing his medicines. "As I hope you're aware, a doctor must know _everything_ about his patient if he is to provide the proper care. I had thought you of all people would understand that, but perhaps I have given you too much credit."

Marta looked away and said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Helm slammed his palms on the table, and Marta jumped at the noise, like a gunshot. "Stop playing games. You put her life at terrible risk! There is a bullet in her back. The wound is infected, and if not treated soon it will kill her." He nodded as she froze. "I have guessed the truth, as you should have known I would."

Marta looked at the floor, ashamed to meet Helm's furious expression. Her hands trembled as she smoothed her skirt. "It was not my place to tell you. It should have been Tessa's decision. And I took the bullet out."

"Apparently you left some piece behind because otherwise, it would not have become so infected." He handed her a bowl of milky liquid. "Take this to her bedroom and wait for me."

"Yes, Doctor," she said meekly, and with one final glance at the slumbering Grisham, she hurried past Helm.

#

For Marta, the next few hours passed in a blur. She played nurse for Helm as the doctor removed the last tiny piece of the bullet from Tessa's back. It had lodged against her shoulder blade. Helm pointed out that had Grisham aimed only a few inches lower, he would have pierced the heart and then the only ones to help Tessa would have been the gravediggers.

"Montoya wouldn't have allowed her that right," Marta said as Helm stitched up his patient. "He would have had her body swinging in the town square by dawn."

She paused, then asked in a quiet voice, "Will she … will Tessa live?"

"I don't know," Helm said. "But we've done what we can."

"Perhaps you have, Doctor," she replied. "But I only put her in worse danger. If she dies, I will not be able to live with myself."

The clouds cleared as they laid Tessa back in her bed, leaving behind a landscape cloaked in ghostly white. Marta sat at Tessa's bedside, sometimes holding her hand and sometimes changing the cool cloths on her forehead. She also frequently watched Helm, who sat with his back to the women, staring out the window. Neither dared to sleep.

So they passed the gray hours in silence. Marta's anguish and shame at Helm's harsh words in the kitchen kept her alert but in a miserable state. He was right; she should have shown him the wound when he had first arrived. But she had foolishly hoped that his medicines would bring down Tessa's fever without her having to reveal the secret that wasn't hers to reveal. It wasn't her place to tell Helm about Tessa's other life. But of all the people of Santa Helena, Doctor Helm alone had risked his own neck for the Queen's, even going to far as to defy Colonel Montoya to his face. He was the only one Marta trusted would keep the secret.

She paced the room a few times, careful to keep her steps away from the irate doctor, who sat perfectly still, staring out the frost-encrusted window. She tended to the fire, thrusting a poker into the fireplace to stir the coals and then adding more wood from the pile. The last thing Tessa needed was to suffer from the unusually bitter cold. How often did it snow in California anyway? Not once in the two years since Marta had come here. It was strange that the weather should take such a drastic turn on this particular night. If not for Grisham, she might never have made it to Helm's office.

Ah, Grisham. Now what to do about the captain was another problem all together. She and Helm had half-carried, half-dragged him into one of the guest rooms and left him there, sleeping peacefully on the bed. Perhaps when he awoke, he would leave without making any more demands. At least, she hoped so. Despite his help, she owed him nothing. He had shot Tessa. He had caused this mess of a night. But he also had been instrumental in bringing the medicine Tessa needed to live. Perhaps the two would balance out in the end, if Tessa lived.

Marta returned to her place at Tessa's side and hardly moved again. Helm regularly checked Tessa's temperature and examined the ugly red lines protruding from her wound. To Marta's eye, they seemed to have receded a bit, but that could only be her hopeful imagination.

Just as the sky began to lighten, Tessa's fever broke, and Marta almost cried. She felt weary to her bones, but never so relieved.

#

To be continued ...


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Secret's Price, part 5  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell

#

Daylight revealed a two-tone world: A snowy white landscape and an icy blue sky. The California sun was bright and warm above it all, causing large hunks of snow to loosen and slide off the hacienda roof. By day's end, Marta knew, it would all be melted away. Outside Tessa's bedroom, she could hear the laughter of children -- and some adults -- playing in the snow. But Marta had experienced her fill of it last night. Besides, she was needed here.

Tessa looked better now that her fever had broken, but she still had not awakened. Marta sat by her bedside, sometimes holding her hand, and rising only to rekindle the fire. She worried, mostly because she knew the longer it took for Tessa to regain consciousness, the less likely it was she would fully heal. Doctor Helm had assured her, before he left, that Tessa would recover, but Marta's imagination wouldn't allow her such confidence. What if there was permanent damage? What if her injury stopped her from ever again riding as the Queen?

Her concerns faded, though, just as one of the serving girls brought her some lunch. Tessa stirred, slowly opened her eyes and squinted against the bright light in the room. Marta quickly shut the curtains and returned to the bedside. Tessa looked over at her, and a slow, tired smile crossed her face.

"Marta?"

"I'm here," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been shot in the back."

Marta chuckled. "You can joke about it. That's a good sign."

"I'm thirsty."

Marta handed over her own water glass as Tessa slowly sat up, wincing only a little. She quickly emptied the glass, then asked, "How long has it been?"

"You were shot the night before last. Doctor Helm said you weren't to get out of bed today."

Tessa suddenly looked interested. "The doctor was here?"

"All last night."

Tessa smiled ruefully. "Too bad I missed that."

Marta smiled a bit, knowing Tessa's attraction to Helm. It was good that she was showing interest in a man, instead of being solely obsessed with her work as the Queen. A woman of her age and stature was expected to marry and have children, if only to assure that the family would go on. It made what Marta had to say next all the more difficult. Would Tessa still show interest in Doctor Helm after knowing he knew the secret, or would she distance herself to protect him?

Marta sat on the bedside and licked her lips nervously. "Tessa, there's something you need to know about Doctor Helm." She took a deep breath and steeled herself for the reaction. "He knows about the Queen."

Tessa stared at her in alarm. "You told him?"

"He figured it out on his own," she answered quickly. "He found your wound, and it's a good thing he did. If he hadn't treated it, you would be dead now."

"I have to talk to him," Tessa said. She pushed back her covers and pulled herself up to get out bed, but Marta gently pushed her back down.

"You will talk to him, but not now. He left strict orders that you were to rest for the next several days. No sword fights or chases on horseback. But I told him that was unlikely considering that farmer is still scheduled for execution."

Tessa looked dejected, and worried. "He's mad at me, isn't he? I've blown my chance before we've even started."

"Actually," Marta said with a reassuring smile, "he was mostly frightened that you might die. If he was mad at anyone, it was me for not telling him about the gunshot when he first arrived." She paused. "You should know that Capitan Grisham was here last night, as well."

"Oh God. Don't tell me he knows, too."

Marta chuckled. "Of course not. We, um, drugged Grisham to keep him out of the way, and we allowed him to see you early this morning before he returned to town. He was groggy and probably won't remember much."

Tessa sighed and relaxed back into her pillow. Her eyes were feeling awfully heavy. "It seems I have some messes to clean up," she muttered in a tired voice.

"Yes. But right now, you need to take care of yourself and get some rest."

Tessa nodded, closed her eyes and was asleep in moments. _Sweet dreams_, Marta thought as she brushed back a few strands of hair from Tessa's forehead. She was such a determined young woman -- too much for her own good sometimes, and this time it had cost her dearly. But she wouldn't give up, that Marta knew. It wouldn't be long before she and Helm would have a certain conversation that was a long time in coming. Marta only hoped that having the secret in the open would bring them together, not push them apart.

With that, Marta stood and stretched her arms. She couldn't afford to spend the rest of the day in here. There were clothes to wash, meals to prepare and chores to be done. Her list of things to do had piled up over the past couple of days, and it was high time she got started on it. She adjusted the blankets one last time so that they adequately covered Tessa, and then, for the first time in two days, she walked out of the bedroom confident that Tessa would be fine until she returned.

#

The first day after waking, Tessa spent in bed. By the second morning, she felt well enough to venture out of her bedroom, into the living area where she could work on the paperwork that came with operating a large household. She detested the task, but it was all she could do while still recovering. In late afternoon, Colonel Montoya and Captain Grisham paid a visit -- hoping to find her on her deathbed, no doubt, and ready to pounce on her land. Tessa did her best to smile and act flattered by the attention but feigned exhaustion soon enough, giving Marta an excuse to usher them from the house.

Vera also stopped by, bringing with her a basket of fruits. She fussed over Tessa as any friend should, telling her she should not be out of bed after such an illness. She shared the gossip from town, which mostly involved the snowstorm. No one Vera had spoken to could remember such a storm ever before, but of course the snow was melted by now, and it was too bad that Tessa hadn't gotten to enjoy it. Tessa managed to distract Vera from her chatting long enough to ask, as casually as she could, whether that poor farmer locked up in the jail had been executed.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know," Vera replied. "Hangings are so awful. I make a point of not concerning myself with such things, and neither should you, Tessa. You should be focused on recovering as quickly as possible."

"Of course, you're right," Tessa said, and pressed the subject no more.

After Vera left, Tessa spent the remainder of the afternoon waiting on one more visitor, the only one she truly wanted to see. But Doctor Helm did not come, and Tessa lay awake in bed that night wondering whether her discovered deceit had ruined his trust in her forever. The thought left a sick feeling in her stomach.

So it was on the third night after her ordeal, Tessa guided her horse down the deserted nighttime road. She could feel his muscles tensing below her thighs, ready to burst into a gallop at her command, but she kept his gait slow to spare her back. Even at this speed, each movement sent a small, sharp stab through her shoulder, but she pursed her lips and tried to ignore it. The Queen would not slump in the saddle or double over in pain. The Queen needed to seem strong. Invincible. So she endured and rode slowly toward town.

Marta had made it quite clear that it was too early for Tessa to be leaving the hacienda at all, let alone donning the Queen's mask for some nighttime adventure. Tessa had assured her that she had only one purpose in mind, one place to go, and that she wouldn't physically strain herself. She hoped that she would encounter none of Montoya's men, allowing her to hold to that promise. She had put Marta through enough in the past few days and had no wish to add to the ordeal.

She arrived at Doctor Helm's residence without incident and carefully made her way to his window. It had been left cracked open despite the chill evening, and she could see drapes billowing gently against the flickering light inside. She smiled a bit and dared to hope that he had left the window open as an invitation to her. Perhaps this meeting would not go so badly after all.

Tessa made her way up and pushed the window open, even that small action sending a shooting pain down her back. She winced a bit as she pulled herself up and swung first one leg, then the other, through the opening. Helm sat at his table, scribbling away at some paper; his back was to her, but she had a feeling he knew she was there.

"Good evening, Doctor," she said, and stepped into the room.

"I thought you might come sooner," he said without turning around.

"And I thought you might come to check on your patient. I guess we were both disappointed."

At that, he set down his pen and turned to look at her, his eyes meeting hers in a way they never had before, more bold and assured. She fervently wished she knew what he was thinking. With no hesitation but also no hurry, he stood, walked to her and reached out to do what no one ever had before. Both his hands slid around to the back of her head, under her hair, and gently worked at the knot that held her mask in place. She hardly was able to breathe as he loosened the scrap of black fabric and lifted it from her face.

"You don't need that with me," he said quietly, and pressed the mask into her hand.

"You're not angry, then?"

"Not anymore." He beckoned her into the room. "Sit down. Let me look at your back."

She did as he asked, not knowing what else to do. She suddenly felt strangely defenseless, as though he had stripped away not only her mask but also whatever it was that gave the Queen her brazenness, her authority. Now she was only Tessa. The feeling both scared and thrilled her. Always with Helm, she had either played the part of the Queen or the Senorita. Never before had she interacted with him as simply herself. With one small act, he had disarmed her more deftly than any opponent -- something she certainly hadn't anticipated.

She sat in the chair he had so recently vacated, unlaced her top, her fingers trembling, and dropped the material down far enough for him to do his work. His touch was cool as he gently lifted the bandages and skimmed his fingers over her wound. It throbbed in protest.

"It's looking much better," he said. "Marta has done a good job of taking care of you. I'll clean it and put on a new dressing."

As he gathered his supplies, she said, "Why did you not come to the hacienda? I thought you would."

"There was no need. I knew Marta could handle your recovery and that if any complications arose, she would send for me." He paused. "I also have been otherwise occupied for the past few days."

"Occupied?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I've been out saving your poor jailed farmer, seeing as you could not." At her confused look, he flashed a small smile. He dipped a cotton cloth in a foul-smelling liquid and dabbed at her wound. "I spoke to Pedro's wife, who told me about some bandits who had been stealing from Senor Perez for months. Her son had seen them take some cattle, and when Pedro went out to investigate, he was caught by Grisham's men and arrested as the thief. Others who work at the Perez ranch backed up her story. They gave me a general idea of which directions the bandits ride from, so I went hunting."

"_You_, Doctor?" Tessa couldn't hide the surprise in her voice.

He chuckled. "Remember, I wasn't always a doctor. I have other skills, tracking being only one of them." He placed a clean bandage over her shoulder. "There. You can pull up your shirt now. Anyway, I found the cattle and had them returned to the ranch. Montoya was forced to release Pedro, and he's back with his family. The bandits, however, have not been caught. I suspect the Queen of Swords might be useful in bringing them to justice before they strike again."

"I'm grateful, Doctor. You saved that man's life."

He sat beside her, on the table. "Consider it a reminder that not every problem is best solved with a prison break and a shootout."

Tessa's voice turned a little dangerous. "Point taken."

"Now I'm sure you didn't come to talk about cows and bandits."

"No, I didn't." She took a deep breath. "I came to find out where we stand, now that you know. And to apologize."

"You've lied all this time, about who you are," he said quietly, but with an edge anger in his tone. "When I found out, at first I was shocked. Then I was livid because you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth."

Her words rushed out. "I wanted to tell you, so many times, but I was afraid you would never speak to me again. And I was afraid of what Montoya and Grisham would do if they found out you knew."

"I know," he said. "After thinking about it for a while – and I've thought of little else for several days -- I came to realize that."

She dared to reach out, take his hand, and relaxed when he didn't pull away. "I was afraid of losing you."

His fingers tightened around hers. "You haven't lost me."

"Good." They sat in silence for a few moments before she spoke again. "What happens now?"

"I think that would be obvious. I continue on as the town's doctor. You continue on as the people's hero. Only now you have another person you know you can trust with whatever you need." He half-smiled. "Unless you do something stupid, and then I'll try to stop you and yell a lot. And you'll yell back."

"So just like old times," Tessa said, chuckling. "Thank you, Doctor. For everything."

As he nodded his response, she regretfully reclaimed her hand, fitted her mask back in place and went back to the window. No guards were in sight, so she swung one leg over the ledge.

"Tessa," Helm said behind her, and she turned. "Be careful."

"You, too, Doctor." She paused, then gave a small smile. "Robert."

With one last long look, she was out the window and gone. Helm heard pounding hoof beats a few moments later, with no one raising an alarm. She had slipped away once again, same as always -- and yet, things would never again be the same between them. He smiled at that thought before settling back into his chair. _Things won't ever be the same. No, they'll be better_.

The end

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